


Bullets and Breakfast

by orphan_account



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 06:11:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2721683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray takes Ryan out to dinner, but that doesn't quite end up working out for either of them. Runawaycon!AU from fakeahcomics' ask.fm</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bullets and Breakfast

Ray slips up.

He takes Ryan out to dinner at a fancy rooftop restaurant in Los Santos (Ryan likes small-town diners better, but he knows that Ray shows affection by throwing money at it, so he accepts the token of the gesture) and it's candlelit and dark and Ryan's pretty sure Ray rented out the whole restaurant because there's no one else there except the waitstaff. It's windy, but the restaurant has kept the cold at bay with copious fireplaces and heatlamps, and has wind-guards at the sides of the restaurants, with the front open to show off the Los Santos skyline. Ray spends the evening grinning into his coke, and he mentions that they can spend the rest of the night in Ryan's game room _however he wants._

All in all, it's turning out to be a pretty good evening.

Of course, in traditional Fake AH Crew style, something goes wrong somewhere. The sound of police choppers is always present in Los Santos, and it's a droning buzz that Ryan isn't used to hearing, always at the edge of hearing, always _annoying._ Except it's suddenly getting louder, and all of a sudden a huge helicopter - not police, probably? It's not black and white, but who knows - roars up over the lip of the restaurant. The blades beat a cacophony against the already high wind, and Ryan finds himself locked into the seat, just the same way he had been when Ray first pointed a gun at him.

A waitress screams as bullets erupt from the copter and spray the deck, kicking up splinters and dust. Ray stands and whirls to face the copter, reaching for his waistband, where he always always always keeps a gun, but it's _not there_ and Ray's still in shock at that fact, his hand grasping over and over where his backup weapon is supposed to be.

" _Ray!"_ Ray doesn't have much longer to think about it because just as whoever-it-is up there decides to start shooting again, something hits him solidly from behind, and he's on the ground eating splintered wood. Ray is about to throw off the weight on him and punch it solidly, until he realizes it's Ryan, and his face isn't the concerned but clear expression he expected. It's twisted in pain, and Ray's eyes rake over him faster than they ever have before, and he spots the blood, the glistening _hole in Ryan's shoulder._

Ray sees red. The guys in the copter are lucky he's unarmed, because if he could, he'd have RPG'd their asses out of the sky three seconds ago. As it stands, he's got more pressing things to worry about than the gang symbol painted on the helicopter, faded out and unrecognizable, and not one that belonged in this town. He rolls the two of them over, crouching over Ryan, watches the copter, waits for an opening around the bullets they're firing non-stop.

As soon as it happens, he pulls Ryan up by his good arm and sprints toward the door, towing the dazed and _bleeding high school teacher_ along with him. Ray can't blame him, getting shot isn't a part of his job description, it's no wonder he's not able to get up right away. The only reason Ray is ever able to is because of adrenaline and because he's taught his whole body that sitting after getting shot means death.

He gets to the door of the restaurant, throwing Ryan behind an overturned table - a little more roughly than was probably necessary, but Ray was on full-tilt adrenaline, there was no curbing any of his actions now. And then he spotted his gun, _his pink pistol_ on a table by the door, and he understands. Understands that someone sold them out, and this wasn't chance. It's in his hand in the next instant, and he's firing back at the copter, which peels away to avoid losing its pilot. It would be back in a few seconds, and they needed to be gone.

Ryan had pulled himself into a crouch, wondering just how often this happened to Ray for him to be so prepared to react, and how often he got shot at. If this was any indicator, probably every day he spent in Los Santos involved an exchange of bullets. It wasn't something Ryan wanted to think about, but the pulsing pain in his shoulder kept him from focusing on the present enough to keep track of what was happening.

"C'mon, Ryan, we've gotta go!" Ray's arm was pulling on his uninjured arm again, and he focused long enough to see Ray's eyes glint with worry as he pulled him into the stairwell and started running down the stairs. Ryan barely stayed upright the whole way down. His head pulsed with the pain, matching his heartbeat and the flares in his shoulder, and he remembered all the times Ray had come with bandages over recently healed bullet wounds. He wondered how the kid ever did it, how he kept doing it.

"-an. Ryan. _Ryan._ " Ryan realizes they're outside now, and he's about ready to sit down and take a long, long nap, and Ray tugs him forward again, to keep him from staying in one place long enough to fall over. "Can you hold on to me? Bike's the best way to get out of here." Ray looked doubtful even as he asked, and he knew this was wasting precious seconds, but he knew the city so much better when he had bike shortcuts open to him. The copter screamed overhead, probably looking for them in the streets.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I could do that." Ryan was quiet, but Ray nodded crisply and pulled him to the bike, sitting down and pulling Ryan on behind him. If he were smaller than him, he wouldn't have chanced it and just driven with Ryan in front of him, but there was no way he'd be able to see anything - Ryan was way too tall.

"Your job is to hold on as tight as you can. Shout if you see something. _Stay awake._ " Ray's instructions were clear, murmured straight to Ryan's ear, and Ray felt him nodding against his back. He revved the bike and tore out of the alley, heading for the nearest overpass to drive under so the helicopter couldn't get to them.

\--

It was a grueling hour of dodging and ducking into alleys whenever a car tailed them too hard, whenever a helicopter flew by, whenever someone so much as looked like they were about to point a gun at them, and Ryan kept fading, kept reacting too slowly, kept slurring his words.

"Ryan. What's your friend's name? Your medic buddy." Ray asked over his shoulder, as they finally, finally left the edges of Los Santos and hit wilderness. If Ray's dinner had been found, he didn't trust his safehouses, and he didn't want to pull Ryan into it any further than he already was. He'd already pulled him in too far. If anything, Ryan's reaction to the whole thing proved just how wrong Ray was to chase after him. A soft teacher who loved cardigans and teaching computer geekery to high schoolers was too soft for this life. Didn't deserve it.

"Mmm, Burnie," Ryan finally responded.

"Do you have his number?"

"Yeahh. On m'phone." Ray reached back without slowing down, digging his hand into Ryan's pocket, and wow, reaching for his phone and pulling it out, relieved to find that it had no password lock - and also wondering in awe at Ryan's innate trust. He quickly went to contacts and called Burnie. The man picked up within two rings.

"Ryan? What's up?"

"This isn't Ryan. He's hurt. Can you be at his house?"

"Who's this?" Burnie's voice pitched slowly towards anger, as if he was about to make a threat.

"Ray. I don't want to take him to my people's medic. He doesn't need to be involved any more than he already is."

"I...Yeah, I'll be there in ten." The line clicked, and Ray swore he'd heard clattering as Burnie ran to the door. He wondered offhandedly how Ryan had befriended him, what he'd done to earn such loyalty, but he figured that was just how Ryan was. Trusting and naive to a fault, to the point where others wanted to protect him. Look at where that got Ray. He was going to punch Michael in the nose for letting him get involved with Ryan instead of leaving him to his small-town life as soon as he could have. If he'd just fucked off, this never would have happened.

\---

After Burnie pulled out the bullet - thank god it was just one, and not too deep - and patched Ryan up, Ray dragged him to his bed, pulled off his shoes and jeans and cardigan and pushed him gently onto the sheets. Burnie had said he should be fine, but Ray was going to sit by and watch just in case.

"You can sleep now, Ryan. Danger's passed. Take a nap."

"Mm, I think I will. You too?" Ryan asked, rolling over to look at Ray, though with all the pain medication he was on, everything was a little fuzzy.

"I'm on watch. Gonna make sure you stay fine."

"Can't you watch me from here?" Ryan patted the covers next to him, and reached for Ray's arm, tugging at it. Ray sighed, toed off his shoes, put his pistol on the nightstand, and curled up behind Ryan.

\---

Ryan woke up to the smell of something burning.

He jolted up, and immediately regretted it, gasping out a cry in pain. The noises that he had been hearing from the rest of the house immediately stopped socked feet pattered down the hall. The door was thrown open, and Ray looked into the room, presumably for any sort of danger. When he found Ryan sitting there, looking somewhat sheepish, his shoulders slumped in relief.

"You stay in bed. I've uh...I got breakfast for you." He was gone before Ryan could question him, but he smiled slowly, turning around wearily to pile up some pillows so he could sit more comfortably.

Ray came back carrying a cookie pan instead of a tray, stacked with orange juice, some fruits, and...what seemed to be eggs and toast? He couldn't quite tell, since they were both a little more brown than white.

He then realized that the burning smell had come from the kitchen. And Ray.

"You _made_ breakfast?" Ryan asked incredulously, and Ray shrugged. Ray never cooked. Takeout was his normal routine, unless Geoff cooked and invited him over, or he was staying at Ryan's. This was a first. "You made breakfast, even though you don't cook, _ever_ , for me?"

"Don't be a dickhead," Ray grumbled, putting the makeshift tray on Ryan's lap.

"I'm touched, Ray!" He grinned, even as Ray  huffed, and he took a bite of eggs that had been burnt to a crisp. His first reaction would have been to spit it out, but he channeled his inner teacher. _Do  it for the kid_. He smiled, or hoped it looked like that instead of a grimace, and swallowed the bite, chasing it down with orange juice. "This is good! You should cook more often."

"Alright, now you're really being an ass." Ryan laughed, but continued to eat the breakfast that had been put under a little too much heat.

Ray shook his head, and decided that fuck it, he would just be more careful in the future. He wasn't sure he could stand to live without this dumb teacher. In fact, he was pretty certain of it. That trusting-as-a-puppy disposition might get him hurt in the end, but all it did was confuse (at first) and then draw Ray in. Besides, what was the point of belonging to the biggest crew in Lost Santos if he couldn't do anything with it? He would just have to keep Ryan out of sight of any of their enemies, so they wouldn't use him as leverage.

So Ray slipped up. Ryan had already forgiven him, because he had never blamed him. Ray had watched him take a bullet for him, and still not think it was Ray's fault. Incredible.

He would have to keep this one.


End file.
